


Wintercearig

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Disputes, Intrigue, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Polygamy, Refurbished, pre-asoiaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Crown Prince fails to produce a male heir with his Dornish spouse the whole realm waits with baited breath the outcome of a thorny situation, made especially more so by the unorthodox decision taken by Rhaegar Tragaryen to wed a second bride.</p><p>Having narrowly escaped marriage to her former betrothed, Lyanna Stark's sense of self-preservation runs strong though her veins, for the Crown's order is followed without much fuss when the King makes request for her hand.</p><p>Delivered of a babe of her own within the short span of her marriage, she learns that oft it is from where the songs end that hardship and duty starts.</p><p>AU! The constellation of a power-struggle is born out of an infinitely complicated decision which branches out to touch upon injured egos, immovable interests and unreachable hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wintercearig

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna gave her brother a hard stare and held the crown of roses to her chest protectively. “If you touch it, I shall gouge your eyes out,” she hissed unrepentantly at Brandon even as Ned tried to step in between them. “This is mine.”

“Are you completely without shame? The man is married.” Her brother’s roar carried to her ears, making Lyanna flinch.

“Mayhap I am,” she retorted angrily. Her eyes went to Ned, begging him to help her. He owed her. It was the least he could do. “Leave off, Brandon; not even Robert minded.”

But Robert was a fool. Lyanna was relieved though. She would not have wished to cause more trouble.

Ned, seeing his chance, took her by the arm and pulled her away to relative safety. “It’s just a few flowers. Be reasonable. And you, Lya, don’t goad him.”

Brandon shook his head, muttered a curse and was gone. Left alone with Ned, Lyanna drew away from him. “He helped us. He might have brought me before the King had he had a mind to.”

“Oh, Lya. My poor sister.” He embraced her despite the fact that she held herself as stiff as ice. “Try to put this behind you.”

She would have to. Lyanna thought with distaste about what awaited her after the tourney. Barely able to hold in her shudder, the she-wolf pushed against her brother’s chest. “You are crushing my prize.” If she was to have at least one good memory, she would not have it destroyed by carelessness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar sat in a chair, behind his desk, in the closed air solar of his keep had to offer. He was watching his firstborn play with her black cat. Or rather he was observing the way in which Balerion artfully dodged his daughter’s each and every attempt to catch him by the tail. The gods knew Rhaenys had some unexpected strength that did not come from her lady mother.

“Father,” she squealed when Balerion swiped a small paw at her warningly. The pet did not seem at all pleased with being dragged into the girl’s lap. “Look, father. Dragon.”

Rhaegar nodded his head at her, while a smile formed upon his face. “Fearsome beast, indeed, my dearling.” The cat yowled when Rhaenys pulled on one of its ears.

Deciding that that moment would be as good as any to rescue the pet, Rhaegar stood up from his seat and walked towards his daughter. Distracted, Rhaenys let go of Balerion and he dashed away, to hide somewhere in a dark corner. His daughter held her arms out in an imperious sign to be picked up. Complying, he took Rhaenys into his arms.

“Where is mother?” the child asked after a brief silence, small arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“Your lady mother is in her chamber, waiting for your brother or sister to arrive.” And a long wait it was. Rhaegar could not help but worry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon line, leaving behind dying rays in a sea of purples, violets, oranges and pinks. The dying light had a mesmerising effect its warmth was moving, as the struggles of a knight before the foe. And the inevitable fall would follow.

There was still no news of Elia or the babe. Rhaegar had left Rhaenys in the care of her nursemaid, certain that the poor child would soon be seeking the bed.

As for himself, he could not rest. When his daughter had been born, Elia had nearly lost her life in childbed. The maester had warned them that another attempt may cost Elia her life. “Her Grace is much too drained to carry yet again,” the man had said, for which Elia refused to ever allow him in her presence again. Another maester had been called to Dragonstone shortly after and he dared not repeat his predecessor’s mistake.

And they had tried once more to have a child. Mayhap is had been wrong to do so, but in the current climate not to do so would have been utter madness. The Crown Prince sighed, trying to push away the doubt. He did so wish his mother had been more cautious in planning his marriage. Alas, that chance was gone and would never come back.

He had wondered at the hurry in which the Princess of Dorne had wished to see them wedded and only before the Septon, when he’d finally laid eyes on Elia, did Rhaegar understand. By then, of course, he could no more refuse to wed than he could bring the dead back to life.

It had been a well-crafted plan on the part of the Dornish Princess, and daring besides. More importantly, it bore the fruit of success. The cost, however, no one could have anticipated.

There was a knock on the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The maester entered, his frame stooped and trembling. He bowed towards Rhaegar and looked around the room fearfully. The Prince stopped himself from sighing. “So, maester, what news do you bring of my lady wife?”

“Your Grace,” the thin, high voice sounded unpleasantly in Rhaegar’s ears, “it is finally over. Alas, the news I have is not of a fair nature.”

Hold tightening upon the wooden back of the chair, Rhaegar closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. “Whatever it is that you wish to tell me, maester, do not hesitate.”

Mayhap others would have grown angry, demanded impossible feats, but Rhaegar, out of all people, knew very well that in childbed there was only blood, pain and the Strangers touch, indiscriminately choosing which babes to take and which mothers to kill. Not even the brightest minds of the age could change that.

The man fell to his knees before Rhaegar’ “My deepest apologies to Your Grace, but your lady wife had been delivered of a stillborn babe.” Beads of sweat coated the maester’s forehead. The Prince let go of the wood. “Twas a son, Your Grace.”

His heir. Clenching his teeth against the pain those words produced, the King’s oldest son forced himself to step away from the chair. He could feel the maester’s eyes on him, but, for the moment, could not think of little else but what he’d just heard.

There was to be no Aegon, it would seem.

A bitter smile painted his lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elia rested beneath the thick furs, her dark hair drawn over one shoulder in a thick plait. Her bronze skin was unusually pale and the matters were not helped any by the candlelight. Her constitution, while never what one might call strong, seemed to wither even further beneath the toll of delivery.

Rhaegar closed the door softly behind him. The strong scent of blood lingered in the air, thick and unpleasant. It put him rather in the mind of a battlefield. His lady wife raised her head and gave him a lingering, almost-accusing look.

Ignoring that, Rhaegar stepped to where the ewer and cloth were. The pristine cloth was dipped in water and wrung. Then he walked towards the bed once more.

Much too exhausted to fight him, Elia allowed the wet cloth to wash the sweat from her forehead, but even a blind man could make out she was only doing so on account of incapacity to send him on his way. Likely she wanted to be alone, to grieve.

“Did you see him?” Elia demanded quietly.

“Aye.” Rhaegar could say no more. Instead he pulled back and deposited the cloth on a chair. What words could he possibly use to console her?

“I am tired.” She turned her head away from him, to face the wall.

Understanding the dismissal, Rhaegar nodded even though she could not see him. He did not want to be in her bedchamber and she did not want him there. It was best to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There can be no other babes,” the master was telling him. “She is barren, your lady wife is. She will not conceive no matter what we give her. Apologies, Your Grace.” The man inclined his head to hide his eyes from Rhaegar’s gaze.

There was nothing to be done, it would seem.

“I understand, you may leave.” His dismissal was quickly acted upon, the maester retreating out the door in two heartbeats’ time.

What to do? It was simply impossible to leave matters be. This was no longer about some prophecy. It was not about some old writing upon dusty pages. Heavens, he could not possibly leave the realm in the hands of his little brother. The boy, much as Rhaegar loved him, was their father’s son. Viserys had Aerys’ temper but none of his charm.

It would simply not do.

Holding his face in his hands, the young Prince tried to chase away the persistent ache of loss.

Elia had locked herself in her rooms and refused to come out. Not that she could have even if she wanted to. In a manner similar to the birth of Rhaenys, his lady wife had been left bedridden. “Gods, what am I being punished for?” he asked the sunlight streaming in through the window.

An insane father, a poor tortured mother, an ill wife and a brother unfit to be his heir; Rhaegar groaned, shook his head and curbed the urge to find some wine.

He would need to visit King’s Landing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You would leave me here? After what I have gone through?” Elia’s eyes filled with tears. “I lost my son.” The stubborn set of his jaw was the flint to ignite his own fury. “Am I to be forgotten here as you travel about while our son’s ashes have not yet grown cold.”

Deciding that he had had quite enough, Rhaegar stood to his feet and levelled an icy glare towards her. “Lady wife, need I remind you there is no explanation I owe you?” It galled him to no end that she acted as if the loss had been only hers. The burden was his as well.

“I shall write to my brother,” she groused unhappily, one tear sliding down her cheek. “I refuse to be treated thus.”

“Write then, my lady.” He was at wit’s end with her. If he tried to comfort her she accused him of not understanding, if he sought his own comfort she claimed he was insensitive to her pain. “He was my son as well.”

Those were his parting words to Elia Martell before he made his way out of her bedchamber and down the hall to the spiralling stairs and out into the cold.

There had to be something he could do, the Prince told himself, walking the path that led to the stables. Yet nothing came to mind. Except one thing. He remembered the girl at the tourney, the one he’d given a crown of roses to.

What was the Stark girl’s name?

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna Stark smiled at her good-sister and embraced Catelyn Tully tightly. She was a good sort. “I am very glad that you are to be my good-sister. You cannot imagine what it is to grow with Brandon for a brother.”

“Was he that horrid to you?” Catelyn laughed, patting Lyanna’s back gently.

Electing not to answer, for her lies were not polished, Lyanna drew away. “I have kept you long enough, I daresay.” She kissed Catelyn’s cheeks again and broke away from the other woman in order to allow the next person in line to congratulate her.

Making her way to Ned’s side, she sat down in a chair. “They look happy together.”

“So they do,” her brother agreed. He gave her along look, as if trying to determine something. Lyanna turned to gaze back at him, if only to needle him with such impertinent perusal. He was not the only one who could do so.

“Do you not think you could be happy if you tried?” Ned sighed. “For me.”

“If you asked me to cut my own throat, I would do it. If you asked me to rip my heart out, I would do that too. But you have no right to force me into feeling anything for,” she paused, fighting with herself over the words she should use, “your friend,” she ended up saying the words as if they were poison upon her tongue.

Chastised, Ned glanced away from her.

She had not meant to hurt him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edmure Tully gave her a charming grin. “Are you certain you cannot remain here any longer?” Their palms met as they circled one another. Behind them the pipes reached a crescendo and the fiddlers produced a high, loud sound. “’Tis a pity to be so soon parted.”

Lyanna laughed at her good-brother’s antics and gave a quick nod of agreement. “Were it up to me, I would not leave at all.” They stopped and drew further apart as the song faded into another. Edmure bowed and Lyanna curtsied.

Ethan Glover was coming towards her, a jovial smile upon his lips. “Lady Lya, a dance for a dear friend of your brother’s.” He placed a hand upon her shoulder.

“I should like nothing better.” She allowed Ethan to pull her among the dancers as a lively melody filled the hall. It was an easy enough dance, a reel she’d learned as a young girl from her mother. And Ethan was a good partner.

If only she could stop time and remain as she was in this moment.

Alas she could not. Suppressing a sigh, Lyanna smiled wider and followed Ethan’s steps with her own, twirling in a wide arch.

“Shall you join us to the Eyrie, noble squire?” she asked by way of making conversation.

Ethan laughed softly. “Careful now, my lady, else I shall think you’ve set your heart on me.” Ethan lifted her up with ease. “Brandon has been pestering the lot of us to go. And I confess I’m curious. Though I know not how his bride will like this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brandon shot her a disapproving look, but Lyanna was having too good a time to mind her brother. Besides, he ought to pay attention to his lady wife, not to his sister. Kyle Royce stared back at him with a mocking expression. “What, Stark, aren’t we allowed to make conversation with your sister now?”

“See that conversation is all you make unless you want to taste my steel, Royce” Brandon shot back without an ounce of hesitation. Catelyn placed a hand on his shoulder, murmuring something Lyanna could no make out.

“I say, Stark, your sword may be put to better use,” Elbert Arryn called out.

Lyanna stifled a giggle at the hue of red which attacked her sister’s cheeks. Gods, her brother’s friends were so amusing. “Now, now, you are being too cruel,” she intervened. “I daresay I shan’t ride with you any longer if this be your act.” Kicking her horse in the flanks, Lyanna took off ahead of them.

Brandon was the first to follow, spurring his own horse on. “Slow down.”

“Only if you catch me,” she replied over her shoulder.

They used to race in Winterfell too. It was a pity Benjen had had to go back home. He might have obliged her with less fuss. Brandon would, at times, drive her insane.

“Lyanna Stark, you know not what you ask for.” Those words she ignored in favour of speeding along the road even faster than before.

If they kept it up they might even make it to the Eyrie before sundown.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Allow me, my lady,” Elbert said, holding a hand out towards her. Lyanna offered him a grateful smile and allowed Lord Arryn’s heir to pull her down from her horse. It had been a pleasant ride, but they’d decided that, for the length of road that was left they would walk, and later, of course, they wo0uld have to make use of mules.

The Eyrie towered ahead of them. Yet before stood the Bloody Gate. “A dozen armies have smashed themselves to pieces upon these gates during the Age of Heroes,” Elbert boasted, tucking Lyanna’s hand in the crook of his below reverently. Gallants they were, all of Brandon’s companions. And harmless besides.

“If only Visenya Targaryen had followed their brilliant example,” Lyanna replied airily, more to needle the knight than anything else. Elbert chuckle, muscles flexing beneath the palm of her hand.

“You’ve quite a sharp tongue on you, lady. I shall enjoy watching you slay Baratheon.” Lyanna thought it a pity that her sharp tongue could not slay her betrothed in truth.

He might have said more but the Knight of the Gate, having spotted the part, called out loudly. “Who would pass the Bloody Gate?”

“’Tis I, Elbert Arryn. I’ve come as promised with company.” He nodded towards the rest of them.

The gates were opened slowly, as if to test their patience. Lyanna took the time to glance at her good-sister and her brother. They were whispering between themselves, secret words not meant to be shared with the rest of those gathered before the Bloody Gate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having been passed back into the care of Ned, Lyanna listened to the description he gave of what lay ahead. “There are three waycastles. The first is the one called Stone, the second is Snow and the rid we call Sky.”

Looking down at her feet, Lyanna shivered. They were awfully high as it was. “I cannot understand how you enjoy this, brother. I am barely able to keep from falling off this creature.” Riding mules was different than riding horses. One of the animal’s ears twitched, as if in disagreement. “Do you reckon it’ll throw me off?”

“Not if you are gentle,” Ned laughed. “There is no need to worry.” It was easy for him to speak so, given that he’d taken the road many a time before. “What a look you have on your face. It could sour milk.”

That was only because she had unfortunately touched upon a thought of Robert. The very notion brought her a pang of discomfort. She did not voice it, however. If anything, it would only start another heated debate she had no desire to participate in.

So she decided it was time to move her attention to another subject. “Say, brother mine, have you had any ravens from Dragonstone lately?”

Her brother’s face went red. “Hush, Lyanna.”

“So Ashara Dayne has written.” A smile bloomed upon her face. “I am glad to hear it.”

Ned glared at her. Lyanna did wonder at that though. Ashara Dayne had seemed more attracted to Brandon. Although, to be fair, Brandon was impressive at first glance. She could only hope that upon further acquaintance Ashara had found something to admire in her younger brother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar dismounted and was enveloped in an embrace by his mother. Behind her, the two watchdogs his father had hounding her bowed to Rhaegar, their dry, wrinkled faces set in expressions of suffering to best convey their status as septas.

“I am so very glad that you have come,” the Queen spoke quietly, her frame wracked by a tremble. “I thought you away with your lady wife. You’ve not even written.”

“’Twas not something to commit to paper?” he replied, releasing her from his own hold. He hadn’t had the heart to give the news in such a way. “The King is not present?”

“He shan’t be leaving the Red Keep, you know that. The last venture to Harrenhal seems to have been enough for him.” Rhaegar gave a nod and levelled a hard stare towards the two septas that had stepped closer. “Has the child been born?”

“Stillborn. A son.” For some reason he could not bring himself to give anymore details.

He knew very well that his mother understood, intimately so, the nature of his grief, Rhaegar did not protest as her hand took his. She offered no words on that subject, but started speaking on his brother. “Viserys has missed you. He was truly joyful to learn of your visit and much saddened at not being permitted to come out and greet you.”

“’Tis of no consequence. I will not hold it against him.” The Prince felt his mother lean harder against him. “Come, mother, winter has arrived and the cold cannot be good for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I knew it would end as such,” the King grimaces, his cup dangling precariously over the edge of the small table. “Too weak, that one.” He made a sound in the back of his throat, a sort of displeased snarl. “Should have called it off.”

It stood on the tip of Rhaegar’s tongue to ask his father why he hadn’t. Alas, that would not improve the situation any. What Rhaegar needed was a solution. And he had one in mind, but knew not how to broach the subject to his father.

Thankfully, he was not alone in his planning. The Queen, having left Viserys to his play, returned in their midst. “The Targaryens of old took more than one wife in such cases,” she pointed out, opening a tome that looked rather like it hadn’t seen the light of day in decades. “In fact, according to the law passed by Aegon the First of his name, it is permitted that such take place especially in case the wife is barren, or otherwise rendered infertile.”

Aerys leaned back against his chair, a wolfish grin on his face. “Aye, so they were allowed.” Of course, most of the queens and princesses had not had trouble on that account so the law itself had not been much in use. “The maester is certain she is infertile then?” Rhaegar nodded his head. “Then we had best begin looking for this bride of yours.”

“Then it is agreed upon.” Rhaella closed the tome with a soft sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There are quite a few possibilities,” his mother announced, holding out a list. “Of course, your father would protest to most of them. But I believe that in this, the decision should be yours. I have made a few suggestions, yet I can do no more.”

No doubt the King had blamed his wife for the situation, given that the decision of wedding him to Elia had come from Rhaella. “Who do you think would be met with the least protest?” Rhaegar questioned, glancing at the names.

There was no mention of any Stark maiden. Something like regret gripped him quite suddenly.

The Queen laughed. “You should be searching for the one you think right, not for the one who will be met with the least opposition.”

Rhaegar had the inkling suspicion that most of the noblemen would raise a protest on the grounds of religion, just as his father would make it difficult by conditioning the choice. For instance Cersei Lannister would not do, even if he somehow managed to convince Tywin Lannister, the King would never accept such a union. It had been proposed before and nothing had come of it.

“If only I knew it by looking at their names.” Such a feat, however, proved impossible. Names revealed little but a house. And what he needed was ent5irely different.

“You shall make the right choice,” Rhaella assured him standing to her feet. “Have some faith.”

Words were all good and well, but they did little to help him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she had been a girl standing no higher than her father’s knee, Lyanna had fallen facefirst against a mound of snow much to the amusement of her brothers. She had furthermore ripped a tear into her new dress. Her response, of course, had been to weep until Brandon helped her up and dusted the snow off her dress, promising all would be well.

After that, however, she’d learned to take misfortunes much better under the guidance of two older brothers who did not think much of tears and a younger brother for whom she had to be as much a model as Brandon and Ned did.

That had understandably led to her assuming a level of self-composure that was to be lauded.

There were still sights which could bring strong emotions out from within her though. And one of those sights seemed to be that of her betrothed half-undressed upon a bank of hay with a scantily clad woman beneath him. Little was left to the imagination and certainly Lyanna saw more than she had ever wanted to see.

A lucky lady indeed, that was what she was, the she-wolf thought not without an edge of bitterness.

Behind her she could hear the crunch of snow beneath boots. She did not know who had entered behind her until the person spoke.

“What manner of disgrace is this?” Brandon’s voice boomed loudly past her.

It was her own fault, Lyanna supposed, for having pushed for them to arrive earlier.

She turned around to escape the sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“If he would shame me so even before marriage, even knowing I was on my way to see him, how can I possibly endure a lifetime with him?” The question was not one that expected any sort of answer. Lyanna supposed she’d posed it more to get it out of her mind than to have any words from her brother.

Ned was looking at the ground, presumably inspecting the scoured stone. He’d not yet managed to speak more than a dozen words put together. And he gave no response to her, which Lyanna appreciated. She might have poured her anger out on him.

Brandon would have killed Robert, she was certain. He’d even unsheathed his sword. Fortunately, Lord Arryn had been called upon and with the help of Elbert and a few others parted the two. Lyanna would have wished the man to be late by a few more minutes at least.

The sound of footsteps running towards them rang loud in the ensuing silence. A young woman jogged through the door, much better dressed than she had been before. At a close look one could discern that she was no servant as Lyanna had first assumed, but rather a noblewoman.

She looked at Lyanna and Eddard with fearful eyes, seeming to beg them for understanding. Lyanna gazed away from her, not feeling strong enough to be anything but uncivil.

Another door opened and Brandon strode out, fuming angrily. No sooner than his eyes landed on the lady that he grimaced. “You must be Myrelle Longthrope then. Go on, Lord Arryn will see you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I never imagined he would do something like this,” Ned tried to excuse his friend’s behaviour. Even as he spoke the words, though, he was well-aware that the damage had been well and truly done. Myrelle Longthrope was not woman of the smallfolk, after all, and any dalliance had a price. Lord Arryn had been clear in that.

“One more word about that worm,” Brandon growled.

For her part Lyanna was unsure whether to feel sickened or relieved. She had managed to escape wedding Robert Baratheon, but her pride was not thanking her for it. Matters had made it so that he’d be forced to take to bride the woman he’d been dishonouring in his ward’s stables, if only to satisfy Lord Arryn and the demand which came from Lady Myrelle’s brother.

Has they arrived a day later, Lyanna would have not known of it. She would have gone of to wed Robert and suffer at his side for the rest of her natural life. The very thought brought a new wave of melancholy over her.

“Lya, I truly am sorry,” Ned said, placing a hand upon her shoulder. The brotherly gesture helped her relax a smidge. She was not, however, at ease.

The lingering feeling that something was not quite right persisted. But in her apartments in the Maiden’s Tower she was surely safe. “I know, Ned,” she offered, turning to face him with a wan smile. “You could not have predicted this tangle.”

Brandon spewed out some words Lyanna was certain were unacceptable in polite company and trudged out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wind howled and blew into the room, making the curtains tremble. Lyanna tossed and turned beneath her blanket, trying to fall asleep. She had little luck in that. She’d thought that leaving the window open might help her, the sounds reminiscent of home, but she was far too troubled. Instead she sat up and searched the small table beside the bed for a candle stub.

Mayhap she could read a bit to soothe her nerves.

Lifting the covers, she climbed out of bed and walked towards the fireplace and lit the candle. Afterwards she barred the window and slid back into bed. The bound scrolls were wrapped in leather as she’d left them before sundown. Lyanna placed the candle in its holder and unbound the papers.

She made herself comfortable against the pillows at her back and leaned over her reading material when something else caught her attention. It sounded like a scuffle. Loud voices were soon to emerge from the darkness. Not at all pleased, Lyanna fastened a cloak around herself and cautiously made her way to the door that led into the ante-chamber. The noise grew louder.

With a moment’s hesitation she drew the bar away and pulled the door open to be greeted by the strangest sight yet. Her brothers gave her a warning look which had Lyanna shutting the door with a loud thud and barring it once more.

In that moment Lyanna knew that she would spend the rest of her life thanking the gods for her good fortune in avoiding wedding Robert Baratheon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar held back the urge to roll his eyes as his father loudly declared that none of the options he’d been presented with would make suitable brides. He intended to send another lord on some foolhardy journey to Essos for a bride. That had not worked well the first time and Rhaegar was certain a second attempt would yield no better results.

A knock on the door interrupted the tirade. The King allowed whoever was on the other side to enter. Varys came in. “A message from Winterfell, Your Grace. It might prove to be of much aid.”

It was to Rhaegar that he passed the message however. Without minding his father’s questions, the Prince broke the seal and began reading. It was a stroke of luck, to be certain, and one he’d not dreamt of.

“Well, what is it?” the king grunted, is wine cup clinking softly as it met the wood of the table.

“Lord Stark wishes to formally break the betrothal between his daughter and Lord Barartheon and demands that he be paid back the money he gave Robert Barartheon with the understanding that he was to take Lady Lyanna Stark to wife.”

“Stark you say?” His father rose from his seat. “Stark. Isn’t his daughter the one you crowned?”

“The very same.” Rhaegar held his breath a moment, hope springing to life.

“We’ve yet to make a strong bond with the North,” Varys offered. “They would be staunch allies.”

“What do you know about this girl, Master of Whisperes?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rickard Stark stared dumbfounded at his trusted maester not quite knowing what to say. In the fashion of confused men, he leaned back in his chair, his sturdy frame making the wood screech in protest. “My daughter? A second wife to the Prince?”

Walys nodded his head in a sombre manner befitting his position. “Lord Baratheon should be wedding his conquest soon enough. That leaves our own Lady Lyanna unwed and worse even, at the mercy of speculation. You know very well the nature of man.” Well enough to conclude that Lyanna needed to a wedding of her own or at least a betrothal.

“If I did consent to this,” Rickard began, clearing his throat, mayhap for emphasis, “then I should not rest easy in the knowledge that my daughter might be part of a marital conflict. The Dornish Princess is unlikely to accept her husband’s scheme.”

“The King shall enforce the validity of this second union if needed. And House Stark has much to win. The bride price shall be nothing in comparison to having Lady Lyanna’s son sit the throne someday.” There was a clear enough point that the maester made.

Rickard frowned. “That might well be. Or it might not. You would have me risk my daughter’s life in an endeavour that could bring our ruin about.”

“Certain risks must be taken,” the maester allowed, “but the rewards are sure to make up for any inconvenience. The King shall be expecting an answer to this proposal, my lord.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ever aware of the fact that her reprieve was drawing to a timely end, Lyanna shook her skirts out and hastened to smooth over any crease upon the dark folds. On this day, mere moments from now, she would be attending the ceremony which would act as her saviour and protector from any of Robert’s mischief for as long as Lady Myrelle lived – which Lyanna wished would be for a long, long time, were anyone to ask her.

Father had yet to write with further instructions, so Lyanna had been allowed by Brandon, and altogether encouraged by Lord Arryn, to participate in the wedding of Robert Baratheon and Myrelle Longthrope. She had agreed if only because she could ill-afford to be anything but polite for the sake of her own standing.

Much to her delight, Brandon and Eddard had aided the soon-to-be husband in his preparations. Lyanna could clearly make out the bruise on the man’s chin. The bride looked radiant, bathed in the weak light streaming through the windows, and her smile was quite telling as she was being walked down the aisle by her rather portly father who had exerted himself in a bid to reach the Eyrie in time for the wedding.

The septon waited patiently for the couple to reach their assigned positions and then opened his time. “’Tis for show,” Elbert whispered. “The man can barely read his own name.” It did not matter as much as having the deed done.

“So long as he can speak the right words.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ashara sighed softly and picked the little Princess up in her arms. Balerion scurried past her feet, no doubt in search for food, or possibly some far juicy rat to gnaw on. Shuddering in revulsion at the thought, Ashara adjusted her grip on Rhaenys. “Let us make for the nursery, aye, Your Grace? ‘Tis high time to sleep.”

“But I am not sleepy,” the child protested. “I want to stay with mother.”

Glancing over her shoulder Ashara was treated to the sight of Elia shaking her head tiredly. “I’m afraid that it is not possible. Come along now.” Any further protests were pointedly ignored. In the hallway one of the septas was already waiting to take the Princess from the companion’s arms.

Having returned to her mistress’ side, Ashara sat down in one of the chairs near the bed. “There seems to be no solution to this, Your Grace. The Prince is determined.” She refused to speak her mind on the matter, for likely Elia Martell would not appreciate the harsh truth.

Elia crossed her arms before her. “He would have me share the position as his wife with a Northerner savage.” A very pretty Northerner savage with no objectionable behaviour Ashara could call to mind. The lady-in-waiting was forced to nod. “I have written to Doran, of course. But he had yet to reply.”

“He shall, I daresay.” What could Doran do though, Ashara wondered. If the King sanctioned the union and the words were spoken before a septon, Lyanna Stark would be Rhaegar’s wife whether Elia agreed to it or not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It would be best if the wedding took place in Baelor’s Sept,” Rhaella spoke, looking up from her letter. Ink continued to flow. “Lord Stark’s letter should have arrived to his daughter by now. I daresay she will expect as much of us.” The Queen folded the paper and sealed it close. “I am still unsure of her suitability.”

“You’ve not met her, lady mother.” Rhaegar took the letter from her and held it out to one of her ladies-in-waiting. Rhaella had not been permitted to join him and his father at the tourney. “You shall understand better once she is before you.”

To that the Queen knew not what to say. Her son was not a fool; it was unusual for him to be led by something other than his bran, but in this, she perceived that the heart had its part as well in the choice he had made. It was not necessarily something to be frightened at. Certainly such birthed beneficial situations. But the opposite might be true as well.

It all depended on Lyanna Stark. Whether the girl her son had chosen was strong enough to bear the responsibility and all else that came with it or not; that was the matter at hand. It was not an easy path, not for any of those involved. But perhaps the right was not the easy way.

“As long as you are certain.” She took his hand. “You have my full support.”Rhaella had little choice but to trust in him, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brandon snarled, his eyes fixed upon their father’s letter. “I cannot credit this. Father would not ask something like this of you.” For her part Lyanna busied herself with analysing the situation and the potential it held. “I know that look upon your face,” he continued, a wealth of warning in his voice.

“And I know you do not approve, but until half a moon’s turn past you were in agreement with Ned that Robert would make me a fine husband.” At that her eldest brother paled. He did not enjoy being called out on his mistakes. Lyanna smiled in a manner that suggested she did not hold him accountable in any way for it. “In any event, this is not a request. This is a decision.”

“But a second wife?” Lyanna had not known her brother to be so easily scandalised. But apparently, Brandon was. “That is little better than being the man’s mistress.”

“Except that out union shall be valid in the eyes of the Faith and my children shall benefit fully from this. Were I to have a son by His Grace, that child would one day inherit the throne.” The she-wolf could not help but b e amused at the look on her brother’s face. “You do not have a head for politics, brother mine.”

“Apparently you have enough for the both of us.” He was not best pleased, that much was certain. “What of the alternative. What if you cannot give him a son?”

“We must always take the good along with the bad.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You can refuse,” Catelyn told her, much like others have done before her. “You needn’t accept the King’s summons if you do not will it. Your family shan’t abandon you.”

“But my family would suffer for it.” Lyanna gave a soft half-smile towards her good-sister. “You’ve heard the whispers. Were I to remain a maiden in my father’s home you can be assured that they would only grow louder. ‘Tis best to stave then now, when they are yet quiet.”

“Does it not bother you at all then? That you should be used merely to provide the Prince with an heir?” For a moment Lyanna had quite forgotten that Catelyn was a firm believer in songs. Of course, no one had yet told her about Barbrey Ryswell. And it was not Lyanna’s place to at any rate.

“All women enter marriage with such a goal in mind. I am fond enough of children. Why, then, should having one of my own be perceived as offensive in any way?” She was well-aware that the Prince did not love her. She did not love him either. But he’d been kind to her at Harrenhal and Lyanna valued that for what it was. She could grow to love him.

“If you are certain, then I shall speak no more of it.” Instead Catelyn too Lyanna in her arms, the manner of her embrace almost motherly despite their closeness in age. “Shall I help you pack then, little sister?”

“That would be very kind of you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her escort had arrived about half a moon’s turn after her father’s letter. Most of her belonging had been packed and Lyanna knew she could not linger much longer in Lord Arryn’s home. Thus, she took a bit of time to ay her farewells to Eddard and Elbert and she even managed a half-hearted attempt at cordiality toward Robert and his new wife.

“If there is ever a moment when you’ve need of me,” Eddard was saying, his arms still around her, “you must write. I shall be by your side as fast as I can.” His concern was heart-warming but unwarranted. Lyanna knew well enough what she had set herself up for.

“I suspect you would. But be sensible, Ned. If you gallop off after me, Brandon would follow and that would land us in all manners of mischief.” They laughed together silently. At the suspicious look on Brandon’s face their noises of mirth grew louder. “I must away now.”

Ned let her go reluctantly. Lyanna could but smile and give a small nod. She then climbed into the wheelhouse that was to convey her to King’s Landing. It was likely to be a long road, made even longer by the presence of Brandon, who had been instructed in their father’s letter to act as her keeper.

Still, some things had to be endured with dignity. Lyanna supposed it might have been worse. Father might have ridden with her himself.

The door of the wheelhouse closed and the sound of hooves splitting the earth reached here ears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The King murmured something Rhaegar could not catch. It was perhaps for the best, as most of his father’s comments tended to uncover those dark corners the son hadn’t a wish to see. “Why are they so slow? It has been long enough already. Is Lord Stark trying to cheat the crown?”

“I am certain that travelling conditions have not been improved by current weather any since we’ve sent Ser Whent off,” Rhaegar tried to calm the other man down. “They are on their way and shall be arriving soon.” If the Seven were good, that was. Rhaegar was starting to grow irritated with the King. He was likely to lose his mind as well.

“You are much too trusting,” his father scoffed. “All lords are the same. Turn your back on them just a moment and they shall betray you. You’ve much to learn.”

Possibly, Rhaegar allowed, but it would certainly not be from his sire that he would learn. There was good in the world, though one had to search for it. He refused to believe otherwise. Lords, like all others, could be good or bad depending on the given situation.

“Mayhap it is so, Your Grace.” He did not worry about Lyanna Stark’s arrival though. Lord Stark knew very well not to attempt any trickery. And, of course, he trusted that Lyanna herself would not take part in such an act.

Something else came from the King’s mouth which Rhaegar managed to ignore, difficult as that was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The High Septon did not look particularly pleased to be officiating. Lyanna, however, had adopted a properly cheerful mien for the occasion. The wedding itself, being the Prince’s second, was a private affair in that only those lords present in the capitol at the moment were to bear witness. It was understandable after a fashion. Lyanna consoled herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t truly wished for a lavish wedding.

The vows she’d learned for her wedding to Robert were repeated in securing a union with another man entirely. It was for the best. Lyanna was certain he would be a kind husband to her, and if she never came to love him, then she would make do with the respect and admiration she already had for him.

In one of those strange moments when the world seemed to fold onto itself, fall to pieces and then come back together, he took her by the hand as the High Septon bound them together with a piece of cloth. And she knew that even if the white ribbon came apart, the bond would endure. How it was that she’d reached the conclusion the she-wolf could not be certain.

“It is done,” her husband said after he’d pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

“It is done,” Lyanna echoed.

They shared a long look and eventually a smile. Lyanna was glad that he did not let go of her hand even as the white band was unfastened.

The rest was a blur.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She woke up in the middle of the night because of the unfamiliarity of the form behind her. Lyanna had shared a bed before, but not with a man and certainly not for the purpose of procreating. Such thought conjured a blush. It was little wonder children kept coming into the world given the begetting was so pleasant.

But mayhap it had to do with one’s partner as much as with the nature of it. She had the faint conviction that had it been another man beside her she would not have felt quite the same for whatever reason.

Rhaegar stirred behind her. The arms encircling her waist moved slightly, skin sliding against skin. Lyanna shivered, pursing her lips. She pressed backwards in search for heat and was not disappointed. It was to be hoped that she did not disturb his rest, but she truly would not mind if he would wake.

As if her thoughts had been spoken out loud, her husband’s whole frame tensed suddenly, only to relax after a few moments. Lyanna held her breath.

“You should be sleeping.” It was more a whisper than anything else, threading through her unbound hair to reach her ear. When she gave no answer, he turned her around gently. “Is something amiss?” He seemed curious rather than worried.

The she-wolf could but shrug. There was nothing amiss, to be sure. “I am not accustomed to,” she trailed off, her mind furiously searching for the right word. Nothing came. But she was swiftly distracted by a kiss pressed to her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The song of the sea, wave crashing into wave sinking into the fathomless depths of the water body, played somewhere in the vicinity and the sound of human life came from above. The wooden boards creaked. Rhaegar opened his eyes slowly. The slight form curled up against him did not stir at all.

She’d come to him in the middle of the night, no doubt a little frightened by the storm that had broken out. Lyanna had told him that she’d not travelled by sea. The violent rocking of the vessel had had her fumbling through the dark to find her way to him. Not that Rhaegar had been anything but welcoming.

And now he was looking down at her, noting her face was a little too pale and thinking that his poor lady wife had yet to find her sea legs. Deciding against waking her, he slid out of bed and dressed for the cooler climate of the surface. Rhaegar drew the covers higher, just beneath her chin. With one last look to Lyanna, he fastened his cloak on and left the room, behind him remaining the slumbering she-wolf.

Upon deck the sailor were enjoying the feeble light of the sun spearing shafts of light through the weak mist that rolled on by. They were busy men and the though they did bow respectfully, none had time to entertain him with conversation. Which Rhaegar was not at all bereaved because; he was much too taken with the familiar sight of the sea stretching out before him to mind the lack of conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What woke her was her own stomach squeezing painfully because of lack of nourishment. Lyanna had not hand an easy time making the journey to Dragonstone, nor did she wish to repeat the whole of it anytime soon. Thankfully this day would be her last at sea for some time. The sailors had called her ailment sea-sickness and while it was better below deck, she did wish she could inhabit the upper world without heaving.

Lyanna stretched out beneath the covering and was mildly surprised to register that the weight supposed to be beside her was gone. She knew that Rhaegar found it difficult to fall asleep and when he did, he was a light sleeper. It should not have astounded, yet she’d been half hoping to find him still with her.

Still, it would not do to wallow. Besides, she was in need of food. On rather shaky legs, she climbed out of bed, keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around her, as protection from both the cold and the eyes of strangers. She found her way to her own cabin through the connecting door.

Her trunk had moved several inches from where she’d left it. Lyanna could only blame it on the storm, since the door had been locked with key and chain. Kneeling by the wooden structure she pried the lid open and pulled out a heavy woollen dress with grey fur trimmings. That ought to keep her warm. Lyanna laid it on the bed and went about her usual routine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Salty seawater sprayed upon the beams and floors. Lyanna reined in the peculiar feeling which stole upon her and forced herself to step out fully and walk towards her husband. He seemed content to watch the horizon.

“A fine morning,” she greeted once gathering enough courage to speak. Rhaegar turned his head to look at her.

“Indeed,” the soft agreement drew a smile from her. He offered his arm and Lyanna wasted not one moment in catching onto it. When he forwarded no other words, Lyanna was certain that he had no wish for conversation so she herself said nothing more.

It was a bit startling to be growing so close to a stranger in such a short time. Startling, but not inconceivable. He was, after all, the one person she had a tie to so far from her homeland. She leaned her head against him and closed her eyes, trying to stave off the dratted seasickness. It struck her that it would have been a pleasant experience had she not been afflicted as she was.

“No improvement?” The question, unexpected, made her open her eyes. Lyanna looked at him, for a moment not understanding.

“Ah, I fear not.” She closed her eyes once more, but not for long.

“It might help if you focus on something else. Look there.” Following the direction indicated, Lyanna was met with the horizon line. “One of the sailors swears by it.”

Ever so slowly, the dizziness eased, leaving her better for it.

Lyanna smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar could see the relief on Lyanna’s face when they finally made it to solid ground. That was quickly overshadowed by wonder. Dragonstone was famed for its keep of the same name. It was a feat of architecture, according to legend built with magic.

“I had no idea they would look quite so realistic,” the she-wolf said, eyeing a wyvern as they passed the gates into the central courtyard. She pulled on the reins of her horse and the beast drew to a halt. Rhaegar followed her example before helping her down.

“I am certain you shall have ample time to explore, lady wife, once you are settled.” And once he found why it was that Elia was notably absent. Her ladies-in-waiting stood before the oncoming party, greeting upon their lips, but there was no sight of his daughter or her mother.

“Your Grace,” Ashara Dayne said, curtseying.

“Lady Ashara,” it was Lyanna who spoke, as Rhaegar was yet studying the crowd and missed the smile of recognition which passed between the two women.

Before he could pose his question though, Ashara extended the proper excuse “Her Grace has been ordered to her bed by the maester else she would have been present.”

”My daughter?” She was absent as well, after all.

“Caught a chill, Your Grace.” Ashara winced.

He had known Elia was upset with him, but still, she should have told him as much by letter. Yet as it simply would not do to take his anger out on an innocent, Rhaegar waved her away. Beside him Lyanna has tensed slightly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quite capable of perceiving an insult when one was dealt, Lyanna knew very well what the Dornish Princess had done. She, however, bit the inside of her cheek in a bid to keep her anger in check. It could not be forgotten that the woman had recently lost a child.

“I shall speak to Elia,” Rhaegar promised her as she was led inside.

“I doubt it would help matters at this point, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for presuming, but I think it should be left well alone.” His intervention would only serve to further embitter his spouse. “These matters have a way of working themselves out.”

Given that he had no answer for her, Lyanna could not tell whether he agreed or not. “I should like to greet Her Grace.” If anything, it was best to establish her place in the household from the very beginning. Perhaps knowing her meaning, her husband gave a soft nod. “You needn’t accompany me, Your Grace, I believe you would rather see the little Princess.”

“You needn’t fight any battle on your own,” he told her, halting her progress with a firm grip on her shoulder.

Lyanna looked him in the eye as she made her reply. “This one I must. Your Grace should not interfere. There is tension enough as it is.” She trusted that he knew she was right and pulled away from him. “I shall visit Princess Rhaenys too afterwards.”

With that, she turned to Lady Ashara who had been following close behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elia was dumfounded. She was entirely certain her face fully reflected her present state. Before her stood the sole creature whose very existence vexed her beyond belief. “Lady Lyanna, is there no limit to your shamelessness?”

The girl’s mien turned curious. “I fear I do not understand the question, Your Grace. I am simply come to offer greeting.” That was even more annoying. How could she possibly be so calm? “I hope Your Grace will be feeling better soon.” She curtsied.

Pursing her lips, Elia threw her a stern glance. “I cannot credit this, Lady Lyanna. You dare come between me and my husband and expect that I should become close to you upon your arrival?”

“Of course not,” the she-wolf snorted, her expression a wall. “Your Grace mistakes my intention. I do not wish for your friendship. Yet as we are to share an existence, as it were, I will not accept anything less than civility. That was what I wished to make clear.”

Teeth grinding together, the Dornish Princess released a trembling hiss. “You are not welcome in my rooms, my lady, and should I see you here again, I will not hesitate to call the guards.”

“As Your Grace wills it.” Lyanna Stark offered one last curtsey before making her way out the door.

Ashara poked her head in. “His Grace is visiting with his daughter,” she announced softly, in response to an earlier question Elia had had about her husband’s whereabouts.

At the very least he hadn’t forgotten about their daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a mild chill she had nearly overcome, the maester had assured him. Rhaenys did indeed look healthy enough, but for the scratchiness of her voice. “A few more days abed and she should be right as rain.” That was comforting in any event. Rhaegar wondered when Lyanna would be arriving.

As if summoned, the door opened to admit his new wife into the bedchamber. Rhaegar looked at her over his shoulder. She offered him a smile to which he replied in kind, but her attention was quickly taken by the child beneath the coverings who was watching her with curiosity.

“Mother said I should not speak to you,” the child blurted out.

Rhaegar held back a sigh and prayed the gods for patience. Lyanna on the other hand simply sat down opposite him and began speaking to his daughter. “But do you not wish to speak to me?”

Rhaenys’ mien told of concentration. “I do not know. You seem nice. But mother said not to.”

“That would be a pity indeed,” the she-wolf chuckled. “I thought you would wish to be my friend. I always wanted a close friend when I was your age.”

His daughter’s eyes grew wide. “We may be friends?” The question had been addressed to him. “Even if mother says not to?”

“Certainly you may. In fact, I should be very happy if you were.” Rhaegar looked at Lyanna to see her nodding her head encouragingly.

“Friends then, Your Grace?” she questioned.

His daughter gave a shy nod of her own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Accommodating to life on Dragonstone was not as difficult as Lyanna had envisioned. In fact, not even Elia Martell and her dark moods mattered all that much. Rhaegar had indeed had a conversation with his wife. Lyanna knew not what had been said, nor did she particularly wish to find out. The result, however, was that Elia saw to Rhaenys and her needs and rarely had any reason to be thrown together with Lyanna.

Given the Dornish Princess’ somewhat still precarious health, Lyanna had taken to the running of the keep with the present maester’s aid, or rather under his supervision. Her days were thus filled with numerous troubles that needed her attention, occasional audiences with visiting ladies, answering ravens and sending out messages when needed and at times she could even be found in her husband’s solar helping Rhaegar at his request. It was fulfilling and rewarding enough for the she-wolf to be glad with her choice.

Rhaenys would from time to time be allowed in her company, but not very much. Elia did not like it and despite attempts to improve the relationship between them, the Dornishwoman proved reticent and Lyanna uninterested. In the end, the message was clearly understood by all.

But, as friendship was rarely needed to for a household to prosper and all had their roles to fill, no on gave the issue too much interest, least of all Lyanna and Elia, who were both content it would seem to see as little as possible of each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It started, like all important matters, with a mundane instance. She had been walking the halls of Dragonstone for a little over five moon’s turns when, quite suddenly and inexplicably, while enjoying her supper the scent of fish caught her attention.

Roasted fish was certainly not among her favourite dishes, but Lyanna had never been much of a fussy eater. Yet the mere scent of it had never made her nauseous. There were a few causes that might have brought the manifestation on, ranging from an upset stomach to a much awaited and eagerly anticipated pregnancy. Lyanna had simply pushed the fish away and continued her meal, determined to gain further evidence.

The mildly irritating feeling persisted and it was soon joined by sore breasts and eventually a lack of flux. The maester, when asked, confirmed her suspicions. She was also warned about certain perils and given too many suggestions to remember. What Lyanna took away was that she was indeed with child.

Not in possession of a vast amount of patience, Lyanna was naturally compelled to share the joyful news with her husband. Rhaegar had refrained from asking her anything regarding her condition, but he had made it clear that he was interested in knowing of it when it happened.

So, doing much as she had been instructed to, Lyanna sought Rhaegar out in his bedchamber. Unfortunately, he was not there. The she-wolf took herself off to the solar and upon entering found Rhaegar hard at work. He looked up, murmuring what seemed to be an acknowledgment.

Lyanna answered him this, “Your Grace, I am with child.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elia held Rhaenys in her arms, the child sleeping with her head resting against her mother’s shoulder. Rhaegar could not tell what had made her join him in his solar; he could only suppose it was understanding. But he’d not asked and she did not volunteer any information. Instead, she waited with him, in silence, for the maester to bring news of the birth of another dragonling.

Rhaenys had been up all day, convinced that her sibling would come any minute. In the end she’d exhausted herself into early slumber and that had left her parents to their own thoughts. For his own part, Rhaegar was fats losing his patience. He supposed it was an affliction which plagued all awaiting fathers, yet the Prince couldn’t shake off the fear that history would just repeat itself. Or worse.

Thankfully, the Seven seemed to be in a merciful mood. His wait did not hold much longer. The maester was standing in the doorway before long, creased face relaxed in contentment. “Lady Lyanna had been delivered of a male child.”

And that was all he truly needed to know before nodding towards Elia and taking off to see his newborn son and the undoubtedly proud mother.

Washed and cleaned, all evidence of labour removed but for the fatigue marring her features, Lyanna awaited him with their son held in her arms. The boy was feeding, paying no mind to the world around him, even though all eyes were upon him.

Rhaegar approached silently, barely noting the encouraging smile on Lyanna’s face. His vision was suddenly blurred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elia produced a thoughtful sound, looking at the small babe in the cradle. Her own Aegon would have been bigger and healthier had he lived. But then again, this Aegon was not her Aegon. Rhaenys smiled down at her brother, pulling funny faces much to his delight.

“He’s smiling at us, lady mother,” she pointed out excitedly.

While she much doubted the boy smiled, Elia nodded towards her daughter indulgently. “And why should he not smile upon such a pretty Princess?” she asked gently, bending down to pick the child in her arms. A Princess that should one day be his bride, if Rhaegar had his way.

Aegon gurgled, small hands flailing about. Truth be told, Elia could not bring herself to despise the boy half as much as she disliked his mother. The opportunistic Lady Lyanna had saved her in some ways. She rocked the child back and forth, contemplating the perfect timing of his delivery. “If only you’d had your father’s looks.”

Two black dragons for the Silver Prince. Elia found it infinitely amusing. “One more dark haired Visenya and we shall have our three-headed dragon.” And then they might think of reversing the colours of their banners. The notion put a smile on her face.

“Will I have a sister?” her daughter questioned, tugging at her sleeve. “Lady Lyanna says there is not yet another child.”

“Lady Lyanna has the right of it, beloved. When there is a sister, you shall know of it.” As would the rest of the kingdoms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Visit Dorne?” Rhaegar nodded to Lyanna that she might retreat. It was a peculiar custom that had grown between them, fostered among bitterness and resentment. If he spoke to Elia, then Lyanna would find aught else to occupy herself with and if she spoke to his second wife, the first sought the company of her daughter. “Why the sudden desire?”

“The winter is nearly past,” she offered, “and I have not seen my brothers, Your Grace, in I know not how long. And then one should recall that you have made me a promise after the tourney.”

So he had. Rhaegar nodded as his lady wife and stood. “Then to Dorne we shall go, Elia.” The thought of leaving Lyanna along on Dragonstone put him ill at ease, not for fear of some ill befalling her, but for the notion that he would, sentimental fool that he’d turned out to be, miss her quite a bit. And yet he could not disappoint Elia in her request. “Rhaenys may come along if you so desire,” he allowed.

Elia smiled at him. Not a dry twist of lips, but rather a gentle stretch. “I am certain she shall be well looked after in the care of Lady Lyanna.” Rhaegar took it for a sign of trust, at least regarding the matter of children.

Pleased at the development, he agreed. “The road would be a difficult one for her. Might be ‘twould be best if we delayed these long distance travels in her case.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Dorne?” Lyanna allowed the scroll to slip through her fingers as she sat up straighter. “But the weather has just thawed. The sea can be a vicious enemy.” Worry shone in her eyes, marring those luminous orbs. “Are you certain, Your Grace?”

“Quite certain.” He sat down upon the edge of the bed and took Lyanna’s hand in his own. “You are most capable of running the keep in my absence and Elia has been wanting to see her family for some time now. I cannot in good conscience refuse her request.”

“Apologies, I did not mean to imply it was the course of action to take.” She pulled away from him gently. Having quite a firm grasp upon the delicate, to say the least, situation in which they found themselves, Rhaegar could hardly credit that she would pick the exact moment to be petty. “And when have you decided to take this trip?”

“Upon the coming turn. It would be best to not allow much time to pass.” He took the scroll from her lap and threw it away much to her dismay. “We shall not make a long stay of it.” His promise worked towards thawing another manner of wintry ice. “If you would believe nothing else, believe that. As capable as I find you, lady wife, I shan’t leave you to your task for more than a few turns.”

“Just when I was thinking I should have this keep all to myself,” she jested, shifting as if to evade him. “Must you crush my dreams in such a manner?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The vessel swayed drunkenly upon the high waves. Rhaegar gazed at the naked form of his wife I silent contemplation. He could have asked as to why she had decided that the moment would suit he could ask a thousand things, but he did not wish to. Instead he allowed her approach with the same awkwardness that enveloped much of their interactions within the realm of bedsport. She walked into his arms with nary a sound.

He kissed the top of her head, the queer amalgamation of curiosity and faint distress giving him little rest. Elia rose to gaze at him. Her eyes seemed to say that they took no risk by their actions. And might be she had the right of it. But there was something in the way she kissed him, something which spoke of a gentle fall.

Her warm breath fanned against his skin, long limbs just starting to be remembered. For a moment, one brief instance in the infinite stream of flowing, jumbling time, he turned his thoughts to Lyanna. But as soon as the image of her reached him, the scourge of his consciousness pushed it away.

He would not do that, Rhaegar imposed upon himself as Elia’s lips touched his own.

He kissed her lightly in return, one hand sliding down her back. Might be it was simply her manner of reaching out and he for one was glad that she would take such a step. It meant that the rifts might mend, starting with the one between the two of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
